The Pyramids were a very interesting forward thinking jazz collective that unfortunately flew considerably under the radar during their original tenure in the 1970s. All three of their LPs from that decade have just been reissued by the Disko B label, and the best place to start is right at the beginning, with their still smoking 1972 debut, Lalibela.
The idea that jazz died in the ‘70s, a notion that’s largely caught up with the commercial motivations of fusion, is a faulty one that has thankfully been almost entirely laid to rest. The reality is that there were plenty of very good to downright exceptional jazz records issued during the period, particularly from bands that were seeking inspiration from the free jazz movement of the previous decade. It’s just that many of those records weren’t all that easy to find, partly due to the poor distribution that came in the wake of many major labels essentially electing to close their doors to new jazz in favor of more commercial pop prospects.
But it’s not true that all of the majors shunned serious jazz during the ‘70s. Both Miles Davis and Ornette Coleman had fruitful runs with Columbia, Keith Jarrett entered into a relationship with Impulse (then distributed by MCA) for a series of albums with arguably the greatest band he ever led, The Art Ensemble of Chicago issued a pair of classics for Atlantic, and the great saxophonist/composer Anthony Braxton had a series of amazing LPs released by Arista.
However, the reality is that most of the majors either seriously scaled back or completely ceased their jazz operation during the decade. Great jazz was indeed still happening, but it was increasingly waxed up for consumption by indie labels (some possessing business motives that weren’t exactly admirable) and fledgling artist-run imprints.
Those independent companies were often based in Europe; one of the most historically important, the BYG/Actuel label, released around fifty free jazz documents, many recorded live and quite a few absolutely crucial to a full understanding of the music’s developments post-Coltrane, but due to their status as imports they were destined to be rare as hen’s teeth in the country where jazz was born.
Artist-run labels had an even harder time getting noticed. Without the muscle that comes with money, many self-issued records of very limited commercial potential suffered a fate similar to a tree falling in a deserted forest. Sure, The New Music Distribution Service, founded in 1972 by Carla Bley and Michael Mantler, helped matters somewhat, but it made the biggest difference for NYC-based strugglers and for larger labels like ECM.
The fate for The Black Artist Group, a legendary collective similar in intent to The Art Ensemble of Chicago but located in St. Louis MI, was that their sole album In Paris, Aries 1973, recorded in France on a label named after the group and one of the finest free jazz documents of the ‘70s, went unheard by nearly everyone until digital rips started circulating around the internet in the middle of last decade. In 2011 it received a 500 copy reissue, but sadly the music of this vital outfit remains obscure to far too many.
When I think of The Black Artist Group I often think of The Pyramids, a spiritual jazz collective that flourished creatively in the midsection of ‘70s to little commercial fanfare in part due to the outfit hailing from the curious locale of Yellow Spring, OH. My personal discovery of The Pyramids came via an impulse buy of their 1976 LP Birth/Speed/Merging, finding it in the new arrivals section of my local record shack nestled between copies of Don Cherry’s 1969 album Eternal Rhythm and Cecil Taylor’s 1967 masterpiece for Blue Note Conquistador!
At that point I’d not heard a peep about The Pyramids, but the cover was enticing and the price was right, so I took a chance. And a smart buy it turned out to be. The Pyramids were formed in 1971 at Antioch College in Yellow Spring by saxophonist Idris Ackamoor, flautist Margaux Simmons (soon to be Ackamoor’s wife), and bassist Kimathi Asante. In a situation similar to many of the jazz heavyweights of the period, the group bailed on the climes of the USA for the more fertile ground of Europe and Africa, with The Pyramids visiting the rock churches of Lalibela, Ethiopia and additionally living for a time in both Ghana and Kenya.
This was a period of often wild transition for jazz. The artists that partook of these spiritual excursions largely turned their backs on the jazz-club business model that was intertwined with the deluge of classic recording that had defined the previous two decades of the jazz narrative. Part of the reason these musicians abandoned this mode of operation was simply due to the bottom falling out, and along the way it became clear to this younger generation that the businessmen in charge didn’t exactly hold the artists best interests as a high priority.
And it wasn’t really their scene anyway; amongst their most direct influences was the still contentious music of Coleman, John Coltrane, Albert Ayler, and the scores of subsequent improvisers that recorded in response to the clarion call of the New Thing. This younger generation was questing, and indicative of this change in values was the disappearance of the sharp attire that was once de rigueur for the working jazz musician. In its place came a garb representative of an increased black consciousness.
If the record labels and trad-minded jazz listeners were largely disinterested in this turn of events, that didn’t mean a smaller audience wasn’t hungry for the nourishment provided by these fresh sounds. The Pyramids released three records in their original phase; ‘72’s Lalibela, ‘74’s King of Kings and ‘76’s Birth/Speed/Merging, all on their own Pyramid Records.
Those albums straddle a lot of interesting territory. For starters, there is a debt to the works of the great saxophonist Pharaoh Sanders, records largely released on the Impulse label that explored the spiritual terrain that was set in motion by Coltrane on his masterful ‘60s albums A Love Supreme and Om, the latter indeed featuring Sanders as a member of the band. But Sanders also issued the album Izipho Zam on the Strata East imprint, a once obscure but now renowned company that specialized in a genre known as “spiritual jazz,” a movement that also figures into the sensibility expressed by The Pyramids.
Furthermore, the group’s reliance upon flute and percussion lent the music a mild similarity to what The Art Ensemble was doing during the same period. And The Pyramids general disinterest in going full-tilt bonkers with the abstraction that flew from the spiraling discs of many free jazz groups from the era finds them rubbing shoulders with the gentler avant-garde musings that sprang from the ‘70s loft jazz scene (check out the Wildflowers LPs on Douglas for bountiful evidence of that rich movement).
But The Pyramids were far more than just an amalgamation of unique but sympathetic currents of serious ‘70s jazz flow. They were a fully formed unit that was deserving of far more attention in their first phase, and the Disko B label has saw fit to reissue all three of the above albums in 180-gm pressings.
The whole batch is a total treat for ears attuned to this sort of advanced improvisational expression, and anybody curious should begin with Lalibela. It finds the three founders augmented by percussionist Bradie Speller (Hekaptah), drummer Marcel Lytle, and soprano saxophonist Tony Owens (Masai) for two sidelong cuts that that tangle with all sorts of elevated strategies.
As previously stated, the concept of rhythm was very much on The Pyramids minds across the span of these LPs, and their approach gives Lalibela an air of accessibility that should help those that have been left in a lurch by some of the more uncompromising examples of free jazz firepower.
That doesn’t mean that The Pyramids are timid in their approach; no, the group has moments that scorch with a searching temperament that was very much of its era. The “Rock Churches” segment of the title cut is especially loaded with some prime lung fury courtesy of Ackamoor.
It’s just that those rhythmic attitudes can serve as an assist to those requiring some sort of anchor in aid of not losing their bearings while the music unwinds. And along the way Lalibela holds other elements of interest. One very rewarding aspect is getting to hear another record from the belly of the ‘70s free jazz beast that lacks the “professional” recording atmosphere that was a byproduct of the high dollar studios operated by the major labels.
Many of the indie free jazz releases of the era share this lack of sheen, and while finicky Rudy Van Gelder fans might balk at what they consider to be a subpar sonic palate, expectations such as these ultimately miss the point. In the end this sort of underground jazz was as DIY as the ultra-obscure post-punk of the late-‘70s/early-‘80s, and the stripped-down, glossless production values displayed here are true to the inspiration that got these albums recorded in the first place. And it’s not like an ear can’t adequately soak up all the instruments as they get loose and inspired and exquisitely out.
There’s a lot of Margaux Simmons’ flute on display during Lalibela, and it’s a credit to her and the whole band that his listener, a general non-fan of the flute (a preference stated in the nicest way possible) is largely unbothered by the proliferation of said woodwind here. She completely sidesteps the admirable fluting precedent of Eric Dolphy and Roland Kirk (easily the two best jazz flautists) and jumps full force into the spiky, non-pretty zone exemplified by The Art Ensemble’s Roscoe Mitchell (perhaps the third best jazz flautist).
Of all three albums by The Pyramids, I consider Lalibela to be the best. But they are all close enough in quality that I’ll give no quibble to advocates of King of Kings and Birth/Speed/Merging. I will say that as much as I enjoy all three, they do miss the status of true masterpieces, in Lalibela’s case by the slimmest of margins. Extensive bouts of more aggressively bent horn playing would’ve catapulted these records into the stratosphere, and I shudder with pleasure over the hypothetical fireworks that would’ve resulted from a team up with contemporaneous Fire Music sax titans like Rev. Frank Wright or Noah Howard.
But regarding The Pyramids, that’s what might’ve been. Lalibela is the first of what actually is, and for a true understanding of the ‘70s jazz scene they are basically essential.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
B+
